“I'll give you just one example,” said Sir Clinton seriously. “Suppose I had blurted out the fact which I'd inferred about Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux's marriage. It was implicit in the story she told us; but luckily no one spotted the key except myself. Now, just think what would have happened to-night if that had been common property. These scoundrels would have known that Mrs. Fleetwood was legally married to young Fleetwood, since the ceremony with Staveley was illegal. Therefore, instead of trying the business of the forced marriage, they'd simply have pitched her over the cliff at the Blowhole. She'd have been dead by this time; for their only interest in keeping her alive was to force this marriage with the claimant and side-track difficulties in that way. Suppose I'd blurted out my inference, and sent that girl to her death by my carelessness, how should I be feeling at this moment? None too comfortable, so far as I can see.” Wendover had to admit that the secrecy policy had justified itself. “It would have been a dreadful business,” he confessed. Inspector Armadale's figure appeared from one of the corridors, and, catching sight of Sir Clinton, he came over to where they were standing. His face showed that he had good news to tell. “I've got practically the whole business out of them, sir. Billingford gave everything away that he knew about; and the other chap's nerve was completely gone, so that he couldn't resist questioning. It's as clear a case as one could wish for.” He paused, as though puzzled by something, and then added: “It beats me how you tumbled to the fact that Cargill was one of the gang, though.” Sir Clinton ignored the underlying inquiry. “Was he the brains of the show?” he asked. “I've only a suspicion to go on there.” “Yes, he did the planning for them.” “And the gentleman with no face collaborated with Aird in the actual murders? That's a guess, I may say, so far as the Staveley affair's concerned, though I'm fairly sure of my ground in the other cases.” “You're right in that case too, sir. Aird and the impostor fellow were the actual murderers. Aird'll hang for certain.” “It'll make a very nice case for you, inspector; and I'm sure you'll work it up well for the Public Prosecutor. I can seen a laurel wreath somewhere in the background.” “But it's you who did most of it, sir. Nobody understands that better than I do,” the inspector objected, evidently afraid lest Sir Clinton thought him capable of accepting the credit without protest. “I came into the thing on a strict understanding that I was to be a pure spectator, you remember. I'm afraid that at times I got a shade too zealous, perhaps; but it's your case and not mine. If we'd made a mess of it between us, you'd have had to stand the racket; so obviously a success goes down to your account. The subject's closed.” Wendover, seeing the inspector's difficulty in framing a suitable reply to this, intervened to change the subject.